Wind Chill

by Herron, Rita

  If she came at Folsom too hard, he’d shut down and lawyer up, and she’d lose her chance at extracting information.

  Murphy offered Folsom a bottle of water, and the man guzzled it as if he was dehydrated. Nerves made people sweat.

  Folsom was sweating profusely. He also averted his eyes and jiggled his leg up and down.

  He’s hiding something.

  Liars squirmed and backed away when the interrogator became too close.

  Murphy narrowed his eyes in question, but she gestured to let her have a go at him first.

  “Mr. Folsom, do you know who I am?” She watched carefully for his reaction.

  He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Of course. Everyone knows who you are. You’ve been all over the news.”

  “True. I also grew up here in Tinley.” She gave him a small smile. “What about you? Where are you from?”

  “Originally from Louisiana.”

  “I’ve been to New Orleans a few times. It’s a cool town.”

  A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as if he was reliving a fun memory. “Crazy during Mardi Gras.”

  “What part of New Orleans did you live in?”

  “Terrytown, across the bridge.”

  “Is that where you live now?”

  He shifted, relaxed slightly. “Left after Katrina. Wife transferred for her job.”

  “Where did you move to?”

  He looked away, his breathing growing more rapid.

  “Mr. Folsom?”

  “Florida.”

  Perfect segue. “Florida.” Where the murders began. “What part of Florida?”

  “Fort Lauderdale.”

  Close to Delray Beach. “Do you like it there?”

  “No, it’s hot as hell.”

  “How about your wife? Does she like it?”

  He started the leg jiggling again. “Yeah, I guess. We don’t talk that much anymore.”

  Gia narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re separated,” he said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I lost my job last year, and she up and left.”

  “You wanted to make your marriage work?”

  He scratched his chest. “I did. She always loved Christmas and saw an article about this town being crazy over it. I bought us tickets to come for the festival hoping to win her back.”

  Gia raised a brow. “Then she came with you?”

  “No. Said she’d think about it and maybe meet me here.” Anger flared in the man’s eyes, then he glanced down at his hands. His fingernails were still stained with what appeared to be dried blood.

  Then he reached for the water bottle and took a long swallow again. Water trickled down the side of his face, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. “She didn’t make it, though. I reckon her flight got cancelled because of this freak storm.”

  Gia cut a sideways look toward Murphy, silently telling him to check out the man’s story. Inez said he registered as Mr. and Mrs. Folsom. Had his wife planned to come and been unable to because of the weather? Or was he lying?

  “But you arrived all right.”

  Folsom shifted, then pinned her with narrowed eyes. “I had an early flight. But you don’t really care about my marriage and my wife now, do you?”

  Oh, yes, she did. The timing might be important. If the woman had left him right before Christmas, it could have triggered his rage.

  Then he’d started killing as his way of revenge against his wife.

  * * *

  3:30 p.m., December 19, Tinley

  Murphy clenched his jaw as he hung up the phone. The police department in Ft. Lauderdale had been extremely helpful. When he explained he had a suspect in his jail that potentially could be the Christmas Killer, their lead detective jumped on the line.

  They found Folsom’s home address, as well as his wife’s, and were sending officers to check both properties. Their preliminary background check showed that Folsom’s wife served him with divorce papers December 2nd.

  The timing could be significant.

  She’d also filed a restraining order against him, claiming he’d tried to choke her when she said she was leaving him.

  The Christmas Killer had strangled his victims.

  The detective was going to explore whether or not Mrs. Folsom had tried to make a flight to Nebraska, or if she was ever even issued a ticket.

  Even more interesting, Folsom drove a big truck for a large retail store that delivered all across the U.S.

  Murphy strode back to the interrogation room, armed with information, and the forensics he’d recovered from the room.

  Although Gia appeared calm, a slight tightening of her jaw indicated she was anything but relaxed.

  Every hour her sister was missing had to be excruciating. He was surprised she’d held herself together this long. More than anything he wanted to ease her pain and make things right for her again.

  “Mr. Folsom,” Murphy said, his voice hard. “You have some explaining to do.”

  The man instantly stiffened, rocking his chair back slightly then letting the chair legs hit the floor with a thud.

  Murphy dropped the bag of bloody clothes on the table. “I found these in the bathroom of your room at the inn. Looks like a lot of blood.”

  Folsom’s mouth thinned into a tight line. “I already told her,” he spat the word out as if it was a bad word, “I hit a deer and dragged it off the road. That’s how my clothes got bloody.” He leaned forward as if to stand. “Now can I go?”

  Murphy stepped closer. “Not yet. Sit down.” He gestured toward the button and the hair he’d collected. “I also found those in your car.”

  Folsom looked confused.

  “The hair, whose is it?” Murphy asked.

  “Probably that stupid deer’s,” he growled. “Last time I try to do a good deed. Being humane, and now I’m treated like dirt by the cops.”

  “The button,” Murphy pointed out. “It looks as if it came from a woman’s blouse.”

  “I don’t know anything about a button,” Folsom said. “Maybe you planted it there to set me up.”

  “Why would I want to set you up?” Murphy asked.

  “Because you’re a crappy sheriff and someone got killed in your town and you want to pin it on someone, so you’ll look like a hero.”

  Murphy arched a brow. “But if I did that, then the real killer would still be on the loose. And that’s dangerous for the women in my town.”

  Folsom ran a hand over his face and cursed. “I can’t believe this. I came here for a vacation because this town was supposed to be friendly and the people make the holidays special, but it’s been nothing but a nightmare!”

  Clearly the man was disgruntled. Murphy was determined to use that to his advantage.

  “Your wife didn’t just leave you, did she?” he asked pointedly. “She filed a protective order against you.”

  Surprised interest made Gia straighten.

  “That was a mistake,” he said. “She was just mad at the time.”

  Murphy gave him a deadpan look. Guilty or not, he didn’t like this guy. Any man who would hurt a woman deserved to be locked up. “Mad because you tried to strangle her?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  3:45 p.m., December 19, Tinley

  Gia curled her fingers around the edge of the chair seat to keep from grabbing Folsom and shaking him until he confessed the truth.

  “I didn’t try to strangle her. She lied about that to make me look bad,” he snarled.

  “Really?” Murphy muttered a sound of disgust. “The judge wouldn’t have granted the protective order unless there was some basis to her accusation.”

  “Oh, she can put on a sweet, innocent act,” he said. “Fools everyone into thinking she’s a saint when she’s a lying, cheating whore.”

  “Yet you planned this trip to win her back,” Gia cut in.

  Folsom clenched his jaw, then looked away again.

  “You said your wife loved
Christmas,” Gia said, changing tactics. “Did she decorate a lot?”

  Folsom’s gaze jerked back to hers as if confused by the abrupt change in topic. “She did. Strung tinsel and lights everywhere and loved buying ornaments.”

  Gia jumped on his comment. “Like the Twelve Days of Christmas ornaments? Did she like those?”

  The realization of where she was headed dawned in his eyes. “She had all kinds. Bought a new one every year. Liked to collect them from different cities when we took trips.”

  Gia nodded thoughtfully. “Were ornaments part of your tradition? Or maybe you gave lavish gifts each day?”

  Anger flashed on Folsom’s face, but he remained silent.

  “Is it true that you drive a delivery truck for a living?” Murphy asked.

  Folsom’s brows furrowed. “Yeah. Been doing it for years.”

  “And you deliver across the U.S., including Florida, Georgia and Alabama?”

  “So?”

  “Those were the states where the Christmas Killer has struck,” Gia pointed out.

  “And then you came here.” Murphy pulled crime scene photos of Sari’s murder and laid them on the table. “See that ornament? Did you strangle this young woman and tie it to her wrist?”

  Folsom’s eyes flared with panic. “I don’t even know her. Why would I kill her?”

  The fact that he didn’t automatically deny the charge raised Gia’s suspicions.

  “Because you were angry at your wife for leaving you,” she pointed out. “So angry that once she filed the protective order, you transferred that rage to all women.”

  “Only a crazy person would do that,” Folsom bellowed.

  Murphy spread out photos of all the dead girls, starting with the first and lining them up in order according to the days associated with the ornaments.

  “Or someone who’d been hurt.” Gia strove to sound sympathetic. “Someone who felt betrayed by their loved one like you did.”

  Folsom’s leg jiggled again.

  Murphy tapped the first photograph. “This is Page Gleeson. She was twenty-seven-years old, single, a barista at a coffee shop a block from the boardwalk at Delray Beach. Is that where you met her?”

  Folsom scooted back in his chair as if he couldn’t tolerate the gruesome sight in the photograph.

  “Everyone who worked at the coffee shop with her said she was friendly to the customers,” Murphy continued. “Did she wait on you?”

  Folsom slanted his eyes toward Gia. “I never met her or any of these other women.”

  “Really? This is victim two, Kittie Preston,” Murphy said. “She was twenty-four, a salesclerk at a shoe store at the mall. You may have bought shoes from her or perhaps you just stood back and watched her. Stalked her until she left the mall after her shift ended.”

  Sweat trickled down the side of Folsom’s face.

  Murphy continued, tapping each girl and naming her.

  “Victim three, Anita Henderson, owned a food truck. Then the Savannah victims. Avery Wong was only twenty-one and was on vacation with her girlfriends. You may have seen her at the bar where her friends hung out.”

  Murphy moved on. “This is victim five. Lucy Crandall. She sold t-shirts and souvenirs at a small shop on River Street.”

  “I told you, I don’t know any of these women,” Folsom said between clenched teeth.

  “You didn’t take the time to get to know them,” Gia interjected. “You just snuck up on them and snatched them, then choked them.”

  “I did not!” Folsom bolted up from his seat, causing his chair to clatter onto the floor.

  Murphy stepped toward him, a feral look in his eyes. “Sit down, Mr. Folsom.”

  They stared at each other for a long minute, then Folsom dropped back into the chair with an angry hiss.

  Murphy tapped the next pictures in rapid succession. “Victim six, Ruthie Pickley, a waitress at the Crab Hut. Now we move onto Gulf Shores.

  “Victim seven, Sissy Wiggins, cleaned rooms at the Motel Five. Victim eight, Marcia Sanchez, worked at a donut shop on the strip by the beach. Victim nine, Terry Ann Igley, owned a pet grooming and boarding service that catered to tourists.”

  Murphy gestured toward the picture of Sari. “And then you came to Tinley and took Sari.”

  “Because of me.” Gia leaned forward again, pressing her knees against the man’s to invade his space again. “You strangled Sari and left her in her house after you abducted my sister. The game is over now, Mr. Folsom.” She slammed her hand on the table beside them. “Now tell me where Carly is.”

  * * *

  3:55 p.m., December 19, Tinley

  Murphy watched Folsom shut down.

  “I want a lawyer,” the man said. “And when he arrives, I’m going to file charges against you two for false arrest and harassment.”

  “Just tell me where she is,” Gia said, her tone sharper this time. “Sparing her might help you in court.”

  “A lawyer,” Folsom repeated.

  Gia stared at the man for a long, painful minute, then stood and paced to the door.

  “She’s right,” Murphy said. “Cooperate and save Carly Franklin, and it’ll work in your favor.”

  “I said I want a lawyer. And I’m not answering any more questions until I speak to one.”

  Murphy wished to hell he had lab analysis back, something more incriminating he could use against the man. If he’d just found those damn ornaments…

  Gia turned back to face him from the doorway. “It’ll take time for a lawyer to get here.”

  “She’s right again,” Murphy said. “Everything’s shutting down, and the roads may be impassable soon.”

  “Then let me go,” Folsom said.

  “No way.” Murphy stood his ground. “You assaulted a federal agent, remember? And I still believe you’re hiding something.”

  A night in a cell would make the man talk.

  If he was the CK and Carly was still alive, she’d be safer with him in jail. Provided he hadn’t left her someplace where she’d freeze to death.

  “Give me my phone call,” Folsom ordered.

  Gia breathed out, frustration evident in the sound. Murphy had confiscated the man’s phone when he’d first brought Folsom in. He stepped from the room to retrieve it, then returned a minute later and handed it to Folsom.

  Folsom’s lawyer didn’t answer, so he left him a message.

  When Folsom finished, Murphy confiscated the phone again. “Come on, I’ll show you to your accommodations for the night.”

  The man’s cold stare was lethal. Murphy ignored it and escorted him through the double doors then down a hall to a holding cell.

  Gia followed, silent and steaming. Murphy slammed the cell door shut and locked it. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

  Folsom clenched the bars in a white knuckled grip. “You’re going to be sorry for this.”

  Gia elbowed Murphy aside and pushed her face into Folsom’s. “So will you. If you hurt one hair on my sister’s head, I’ll make you suffer. Then I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”

  Folsom reached out as if to grab her, but Gia stepped back just before his fingers connected with her throat.

  * * *

  4:10 p.m., December 19, Tinley

  Gia leaned against the wall in the hall leading to the front of the sheriff’s office. She was so mad she was shaking.

  Typically, she was good at reading people. But she was on the fence as to whether or not she believed Folsom.

  She didn’t like him, that much she knew. He was a jerk. Probably deserved for his wife to leave him. But …but had he abducted Carly and killed ten other young women?

  That kind of cold-blooded, methodical murder indicated a psychopath. Folsom was a hothead. His reaction had been volatile. He hadn’t even attempted to disguise his emotions.

  Serial killers, were often cool, smooth-talking, masters at manipulation who were adept at hiding their inner depravity. They blended into a crowd, looked normal, ch
armed their victims into trusting them.

  Their true colors surfaced in private.

  They also got off on looking at crime scene photos or watching the police work a crime scene. It enabled them to relive the thrill of the kill. Playing cat and mouse with the police heightened the pleasure.

  Folsom appeared to be none of those things. He exhibited a lack of self-control, which fit with a spontaneous murder born of rage, not a well-planned out one.

  Or a dozen well-planned ones.

  With his temper and knee jerk reaction, he would have made mistakes. Left evidence behind. Like the hair in his car and the bloody clothing.

  Unless…he was telling the truth, and he’d had no reason to try to hide those things.

  “You okay?” Murphy’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Gia opened her eyes, but she barely saw Murphy. Instead the images from the crime scene photos flashed like a montage behind her eyes. All those pretty young women dead.

  Her sister…

  “Breathe.” Murphy slowly rubbed her arms. “Deep breaths, Gia.”

  She leaned into him, pressed her head against his body and soaked up his comforting tone. When she looked up at him, she was calmer, knew she had an ally. A friend.

  Maybe more. Someday.

  “Time may be running out,” she said in a raw whisper. “I have to do something.”

  Frustration darkened Murphy’s angular face. “A few hours in that cell may change his mind about talking.”

  “If he’s our guy,” Gia said. “Those damn ornaments are bothering me.”

  Before the sheriff could respond, Gia’s cell phone buzzed. She quickly glanced at it and connected. “Brantley, please tell me you have something.”

  “I do,” Brantley said. “Not sure if it’s what you want to hear though.”

  Fear lodged in her throat. “Just give it to me straight. You have something on Folsom?”

  “Not really. His boss at the trucking company said he was a good worker, although he’d seemed off these last few months. Thought he might have been drinking too much because of problems with his wife.”